


Rough but Sweet

by frozenmango



Category: Heathers (1988), Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chansaw, F/F, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Use, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Smut, Unexpected update, i was highkey embarrassed to reread this LMAO, tbh this is my first time writing a legit smut story, this time with a loose plot, will update sporadically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-26 20:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10794246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozenmango/pseuds/frozenmango
Summary: In which Veronica wakes up in Heather Chandler's room - naked.





	1. The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> i dont really have an explanation from this aside from the fact that i'm super gay for the heathers and this is all self-indulgent smut. thing is, i don't really know how to write smut so if there are any errors, please tell me - i was highkey embarrassed to proofread this tbh. i still can't believe i wrote this.
> 
> who am i
> 
> and if you clicked this story on accident, please know that this is NSFW and basically PWP. although there might be more installments in the future. idk yet. i'm still working on other things.
> 
> hope you enjoy.

Sex with Heather Chandler goes as one would expect: rough, unforgiving, but _goddamn_ is she good at what she does.

Veronica Sawyer knows.

She doesn't remember what happened the night she spent with Heather aside from the fact that they, well, _did it._ There was alcohol, Veronica knew that much. She remembered smelling it on Heather's breath as she was shoved against the wall of a dark hallway. Heather's impossibly soft lips were roughly on top of hers as they struggled for both breath and domination. Heather obviously won that fight; despite her lithe figure, Veronica knew that she was stronger than she let on. The proof was evident in the bite marks Veronica found littering her neck in an angry purple and the red crescents lined up in an arc on her shoulder blades when she wakes up.

It doesn't surprise her that Heather Chandler slept around; it's the fact that Heather slept with _her_ out of all people that threw her off.

Everyone at Westerberg High knows the pecking order. Anyone who didn't was subject to find out, courtesy of Queen Megabitch Chandler herself. And that usually involved someone getting beat up, pantsed, or trashed. Lucky ones only got pantsed. Unlucky ones got all three (the Swelly Deluxe as Ram and Kurt call it, but Veronica knows that names can be misleading and, unfortunately, the Swelly Deluxe is one of them).

Veronica hisses when the hangover suddenly hits. To say it hurt would be an understatement—it feels like someone is taking a meat cleaver and splitting her skull in half. She holds her forehead in her hand as she leans back against a large vanity desk, the rattling of makeup bottles amplifying her migraine even more.

God, how _fucked up_ was she last night?

The answer: pretty fucked up if it meant her sleeping with Heather Chandler.

Veronica takes a moment to wait for the pain to ebb a bit before she trusts herself to start moving. She forces herself to shuffle around the almost-hilariously large bedroom in order to find any article of clothing she recognizes as hers. She sees her dark-blue bra hanging off the bedpost, a pair of incredibly racy panties dangling right next to it. Veronica chides herself for looking away as she reaches out for her bra. She had sex with Heather; looking at her underwear should be nothing.

But maybe prudishness is something that's hard to kill. Like a bad habit. Or a horrible hangover.

Veronica is struggling to attach the clasp of her bra when she hears the door creak open. She yelps when she sees Heather walk in wearing a scanty bathrobe, her blonde hair wet and falling over her shoulders. There's a certain kind of rush that hits Veronica in the chest. Is it panic? Is it adrenaline? Is it both? She doesn't know, but what she _does_ know is that Heather is approaching her in strides, and a sudden hit of fear hits Veronica square in the stomach.

"You're still here," Heather says as she gets in Veronica's face. A part of Veronica wants to laugh—she forgot how short Heather was without her heels. But another part of her wants to stay alive and yells at her to shut up. Veronica decides to compromise and allows a little snort to escape her lips. She sees Heather raise an eyebrow.

"Is…that a problem?" Veronica asks. It's a stupid question, and with the way Heather rolls her eyes, she agrees.

"'Is that a problem?'" Heather mocks in a high voice. "Of _course_ it's a problem, you fuckin' pillowcase!" She says in her regular tone. "If _anyone_ finds you here, _especially_ my parents, you and _I_ will be in _big—shit._ "

"Ah, of course. The parent problem." Veronica says.

"Yes. The parent _problem."_ Heather narrows her eyes as she emphasizes the word. Veronica doesn't need to think twice about who she's referring to. "Which is why you need to hurry up and _get dressed."_

Veronica feels her face flush when she finally remembers that she's naked.

She's naked and she's a mess and she's standing in front of Heather Chandler _._

If Veronica wasn't in the Heathers' inner circle, she's positive that _nothing_ good would have come out of her current situation. The thought of what _might_ have happened is enough to chill her blood as she finally attaches her bra.

When Veronica finally looks up (she doesn't remember when her eyes trailed down to the floor), she sees that Heather's eyes are wandering over her body, arms crossed and hip against the vanity that she was leaning against a few moments earlier. There is something living in Heather's eyes as she continues to stare; something burning, something _hungry,_ like a predator ready to pounce _._ Veronica's throat dries as she's hit with the realization that Heather is checking her out.

Heather Chandler is honest-to-God _checking her out._

A wave of heat roundhouse-kicks Veronica in the gut as she stupidly stares back at Heather. That heat turns into a raging flame when Heather's eyes flick up to meet hers. Veronica knows she should have looked away and resume her search for her clothes—but she doesn't. Instead, she stares back, her heart ramming itself against her ribcage when Heather's eyebrows meet together in annoyance.

"I'm _waiting._ " That hunger in Heather's eyes is less visible now, subsiding into the malicious twinkle now living in the corner of her eye. Veronica should have been scared shitless; anyone else would have been.

Instead, another wave of heat hits her and begins to pool under her gut. Veronica can feel her body throb and head pound, and she can't tell if it's from the hangover or because _she's insanely turned on—_

"Do you remember last night?" escapes her lips before her mind could even think it. Her body chills as she watches Heather's eyes grow wide, no doubt surprised by Veronica's sudden audacity. They stare at each like that for a bit, Heather wide-eyed (and maybe even a little angry, with the way her body tenses up) and Veronica blank-faced (inside, however, she is jumping into the grave she dug herself).

Suddenly, Heather's face scrunches up, and before Veronica can even react, Heather is gripping her cheeks, squeezing them in a vice-grip. Veronica's hand flies up to grip Heather's wrist with the same amount of strength, but she's not making any effort to pull Heather away. Perhaps it's a subconscious reaction, Veronica muses in the back of her mind, but she doesn't entertain the thought long enough.

Nothing's important when Heather Chandler is dangerously close to her.

"If you breathe _a word_ of that to _anyone"_ —Heather's grip tightens and so does Veronica's—"I _swear_ to fucking _God_ that your life will be a _living hell._ "

Veronica should have backed down. She should have been obedient and listened.

Instead, she smirks as best as she can with her cheeks smushed together. It must be the remaining alcohol in her body from last night (if that's even possible; Veronica doesn't give a shit at this point) that's making her so stupidly bold, but as she grips onto the collar of Heather's bathrobe, nothing matters as she tugs Heather even closer.

"How about you shut me up, then?" Veronica growls.

Heather just stares at her for a moment. Veronica thinks Heather is going to slap the absolute shit out of her. She tenses up, bracing for impact…

But she doesn't expect Heather to shoot forward and close the distance.

It's a shock, but Veronica recovers quick enough to release her grip on Heather. She wraps her arms around Heather's neck and pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. Heather's lips are offset from hers, but Veronica doesn't care, especially when she can feel Heather's hands trekking down, lingering on her chest and waist as the caresses grow rougher, needier. Veronica groans into Heather's mouth when she feels those hands trail down to cup her ass, fingernails leaving a wake of dull pain before digging into her.

Veronica's own hands begin to wander, tangling themselves in Heather's hair. Veronica can feel how wet Heather's hair still is when she grabs a fistful of it, tugging at it gently. Something rumbles in her mouth—whether it's a growl or a groan, Veronica can't tell—and Heather pushes back with an unexpected amount of strength. Veronica collides with the wall, the impact squeezing the remaining air out of her burning lungs. They're screaming for breath now, but Veronica's too stubborn to pull back; kissing Heather just feels _so damn good._

She takes a gulp of air when Heather pulls back a bit (Veronica notes this in the back of her mind as a small victory) to pepper kisses along Veronica's jawline and neck.

"You"—Heather _nips_ Veronica's neck _hard—_ "are"—she takes the skin and _sucks_ —"so"—she _licks_ the hickey to soothe it—" _fucked_ right now."

Veronica still has the sense in her to let out a breathy laugh as Heather continues to mark her neck even more. "Was that a pun?"

A knee forcing its way between her legs is her answer. Veronica groans again as Heather pushes it against her center, the sudden pressure a window of temporary relief and pleasure.

Veronica tries to resist the urge to grind against Heather's thigh, and instead occupies herself as best as she could with removing Heather's bathrobe. It's hard to concentrate, especially since Heather is _burning_ kisses on her neck.

A smirk presses up against the crook of her neck. "Need help?" Heather asks, her breath hitting Veronica's ear. She pretends it doesn't send shivers down her spine.

"Fuck you," Veronica says, and finally undoes the knot keeping the robe together. She pushes it off Heather's shoulders, but the robe pools around her arms, revealing lacy underwear. Veronica doesn't have time to appreciate Heather's beauty, not when Heather is chuckling next to her ear.

"Aren't we already?" Heather purrs, shrugging her robe off. Veronica hears something and she notices that Heather's bra is sagging. The realization hits Veronica, and her hands untangle themselves from Heather's hair and shoot down to her chest. Veronica's hands are far from gentle, nails digging into Heather as she grips tightly. Veronica's lips are on Heather's neck now, licking and nipping. Angry reds and painless purples appear on Heather, and Veronica can feel the rumble of Heather's voice as she growls when Veronica bites just a _bit_ too hard over her pulse.

Veronica feels her body throbbing with her heartbeat, _especially_ when she feels Heather grip her hips, and _forces_ Veronica to grind against her knee. A guttural grunt slips past Veronica's lips as finally gives in and follows the motions Heather is guiding her through, shocks of pleasure shooting up her spine.

"Bed," Heather breathily commands in Veronica's ear, following it with a moan when Veronica pinches the tips of her breasts. Veronica can nod only once before they stagger to their destination, haphazardly removing the rest of their clothes along the way.

It's Heather who hits the bed first. Her legs are wide enough to let Veronica settle her body in between them. The skin-to-skin contact is dizzying, and Veronica breaks into goosebumps when she feels Heather's nails scraping down and up the length of her back.

Heather breaks off the kiss, her pants buffeting Veronica's lips. " _Fuck,"_ she mumbles before resuming their kiss, her tongue trespassing into Veronica's mouth. Veronica groans as a reply, and subconsciously drags her hand down Heather's body, skimming over her breasts, trekking down her abdomen, dipping below her pelvis—

Heather's hand catches Veronica's wrist and the kiss suddenly ends.

Veronica can't help but glare at Heather. "What the hell," she begins, trying to wrest her hand away, "why're you—"

"Go down."

Veronica freezes.

"Wh-what?" She sputters out.

Heather's eyes get impossibly darker as she leans up, their noses barely grazing. The vicious stare that she's giving Veronica is beautifully frightening, and just looking at her turns Veronica on even _more._

"Go. Down." Heather growls, the corner of her lips curling. "Don't make me say it again."

Veronica jumps into action.

She meets Heather for a rough peck before trailing kisses downward, past the her jaw, her hickey-ridden neck, the valley of her breasts, her heaving abdomen. Veronica's lips almost press against her pelvis, but she wills herself to stop and look up.

Heather is looking down at her, mussed blonde hair framing her face. Her eyes foggy with lust, and her mouth is half-open as heavy, hot breaths escape her lips.

Veronica's heart lurches in her chest.

_Goddamn_ Heather Chandler is hot.

A hand grips Veronica's hair tightly, and she winces at the pain. " _Now,"_ Heather says, desperation leaking into her tone.

Veronica smirks to herself as she softly presses her lips against Heather's pelvis.

She never knew that Heather Chandler knew how to beg.

Slowly, Veronica goes down, skipping past that area Heather needed attention the most to plant kisses on the inside of her thighs. Heather squirms and tightens her grip on Veronica's hair, the air heavy with the scent of anticipation and lust.

"I _swear_ to God if you don't"—Heather pauses to groan when Veronica sucks on her thigh to leave a mark—"eat me out soon, I'm going to make your life—"

"A living hell?" Veronica cuts in, finishing her sentence with a lick across the length of Heather's folds.

Heather moans, and her legs jerk a bit when Veronica licks her again. " _Yes,_ " she breathes out.

There's something about hearing Heather's voice, wanton and needy, that snaps something inside of Veronica. For once, she feels in charge, especially when Heather grinds against her tongue, her salty flavor overwhelming Veronica. Moans and expletives fill the air, and the amount doubles when Veronica goes a bit lower to enter Heather with her tongue.

"Oh _God,_ you're better sober," Heather says, rolling her hips forward. A flush of pride fills Veronica as she bobs her head back and forth, meeting Heather's hips halfway. Heather's legs are quivering now, her vice-grip threatening to rip out Veronica's hair as her movements become more and more sporadic, her muscles contracting.

Veronica feels a buzzing sensation in her head as she continues her ministrations. She drunk, she muses. She's drunk off Heather's flavor, drunk off the power she has over Heather, drunk off the fact that she toppled the Queen of Westerberg with a simple phrase, and drunk off the sound of Heather _gasping_ her name for more.

Veronica looks up in time to see Heather arch her back off the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream. Veronica feels Heather tighten around her tongue, pulsing. A sharp inhale sounds above her and Heather's body is taut like a bow, her nails digging into Veronica's scalp. A string of curses followed by Veronica's name spills from Heather's lips as she rides the aftershocks, releasing her death-grip.

" _Fuck."_ Heather lets out a breathy laugh as she relaxes. "I have to admit, you're a fucking _god_ compared to Ram and Kurt."

Veronica wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she sits up. "I don't think that's saying a lot."

Heather sits up as well, leaning in close their noses brush together. "It's still a compliment," she says. There's a dangerous glint in her eyes, and Veronica knows that her reign of temporary power is over. A hit of instinctive fear kicks in, but it quickly melts into arousal when they meet for a kiss.

It's sloppy and uncoordinated, their teeth hitting each other, but Veronica doesn't care and she's positive that Heather doesn't either. They're too busy running their hands across each other's body, intertwining their tongues together, fighting each other for dominance. Veronica thinks she's winning because Heather is writhing beneath her, her muffled moans filling the air as she tangles her hands in Veronica's hair. Veronica feels Heather tug, and surprises herself when she doesn't hiss nor groan; she _moans_.

And then Heather's strength takes her by surprise—again. Next thing she knows, Heather is pinning her to the bed by the wrists, knee wedged between and _pressing_ against her center. Veronica moans again in Heather's mouth (a part of her is surprised that Heather managed to keep the contact between them but another isn't; it's _Heather,_ after all, and what doesn't Heather know about sex?), and her hips roll against Heather's leg.

Heather breaks the kiss off with a _smack!_ and looks down at Veronica, eyes glinting dangerously in the light. Veronica can feel her throat drying up at the sight. Arousal and anticipation churns her stomach.

"Who knew Veronica Sawyer could look like this?" Heather asks, applying more pressure to Veronica's center. Veronica yelps and involuntarily pushes back. "Hair messed up, cheeks red, lips swollen"—Heather readjusts her grip and traces Veronica's jawline with the tip of her finger, and grins when she sees the line of goosebumps she leaves in her wake—"looking all _hot and bothered."_

Veronica has the audacity to smirk. "Who knew Heather Chandler was gentle during sex?"

Heather laughs a laugh so rich and low it sends shivers down Veronia's spine. "Oh _Veronica,"_ she begins as she closes in with a dangerous grin, "I need to warm up before I start the show."

Veronica opens her mouth to say something, but her words jam in her throats when she feels two fingers push inside her. Her toes curl and she arches her back, her chest pushing against Heather's. Her nerves explode with pleasure as Heather moves at an excruciatingly slow pace. Veronica can feel Heather curl her lips and her fingers.

"Tell me," Heather breathes, "what do you want?"

"I— _ungh!"_ Veronica twitches as Heather slams her fingers in, her palm hitting Veronica's clit.

Heather chuckles. "I didn't quite get that."

Veronica looks Heather dead in the eye. "I want it _hard_ ," she declares.

Heather doesn't need to be told twice.

She lets go of Veronica's hands and attaches herself to Veronica's neck, nipping and sucking. Veronica's nails travel up and down Heather's back, stopping only to dig into her skin when Heather curls her fingers at _that particular spot._ Grunts and moans slip past her, her volume rising as Heather picks up the pace. It should have been a brutal speed, but with the way Heather angles her hand so that she hits Veronica's clit every time, Veronica finds herself slipping deeper and deeper into pleasure, the knot in her gut getting tighter and tighter.

" _Fuck,_ Heather," she says, her nails digging into Heather's back again. Something slips past her eyes and down her temple; whether it's sweat or tears, Veronica doesn't know nor care.

All that matters to her is that she's _so_ close.

All that matters to her is the pleasure _electrocuting_ her nervous with every thrust.

All that matters to her is that she's about to _come._

All that matters to her is that _Heather_ is about to make her come.

And it's that thought that pushes her over the edge.

Veronica arms wrap around Heather's neck, hugging her close. She can barely feel Heather returning the embrace with one arm because she's too busy moaning out Heather's name over and over again like a mantra, clinging to her as her body tenses and quivers. Her toes are digging into the sheets, her core is on fire, and her eyes are rolling back as the waves of her orgasm crash into her.

Then it's all over. Veronica's body relaxes, and Heather slips away from her hold. The bite of the cold air sinks its fangs into her skin, but Veronica is too tired to care. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, wondering if the pounding she feels in her head is still her hangover or her heartbeat. Maybe it's both, she concludes.

An annoyed groan breaks the peaceful silence. "Are you _really_ going to sleep?" Heather asks. Veronica can imagine her standing naked, arms crossed and eyebrows knitted together with irritance.

" _Yes,"_ Veronica says before a yawn interrupts her. "I'm _tired."_

"Well, you're not the only one, but I'm still up."

"That can change, can't it?"

There's a pause. Then the bed creaks as the mattress sinks, and Veronica can feel warmth returning to her side. Veronica turns to her side and slips her arm across Heather's waist. She can feel Heather tense before melting at the contact. It makes the smallest of smiles appear on Veronica's lips. One part of her wonders if Heather's too tired to push her off.

Another part thinks that Heather just likes being held—like a normal person.

"You better haul your ass out of here when you wake up," Heather says.

Veronica doesn't have enough energy to formulate a proper reply. She gives a grunt and takes another deep breath, taking in the scent of Heather.

She never noticed it before, but Heather smells sweet. Like candy.

Rough but sweet, Veronica thinks to herself as she teeters on the edge of sleep, Heather Chandler is rough but sweet.

The thought makes her even more beautiful in Veronica's eyes.


	2. A Week After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Veronica shares another night and morning with Heather - again.

They're at it again.

Heather is pinning Veronica against a wall in a hallway, smearing lipstick all over her lips. The booming bass of the music is reverberating throughout the house, the song's raunchy lyrics entering one ear and exiting the other. It's not like Veronica can process it anyways; she's too busy focusing on Heather, and how she gasps for breath every time they break apart for a brief moment. Veronica is losing count of how many kisses she's shared with Heather tonight, but she doesn't care.

Right now, she only cares about Heather's tongue entering her mouth.

Veronica's tastes something sweet, and she wonders if it's the remnants of the flavored vodka they had. The thought doesn't last long. How can it, when Heather is forcing her knee between her legs?

The kiss, heated and messy (it's Veronica's favorite, and it's something that she knows Heather knows), suddenly ends when Heather pulls back enough to have her lips brush against Veronica's. Veronica finds it unbearable to be _this_ close and not get what she wants; she's tempted to close the distance, but she knows that there's hell to pay from Heather if she does.

"Something wrong?" Veronica mumbles, their lips grazing. The sensation sends shivers down her spine, straight to her core.

"You still having your clothes on is what's wrong," Heather says. She pushes her body closer against Veronica's but keeps their lips separate. Veronica wonders how in the _hell_ Heather has this much self-control after the ungodly amount of alcohol she had. Her alcohol tolerance is larger than expected, Veronica thinks (but then again, Veronica is a little more than drunk to give a complete shit).

"We won't make it to your bedroom," Veronica points out. She feels a hand slip under her skirt, creeping up her thigh to cup her ass. She lets out a breath when Heather squeezes, nails digging into her.

"And?" Heather's voice holds a challenge, a dare to oppose her. Call Veronica a masochist, because she loves it. "Is that a problem?"

"Won't we get"—Veronica pauses to catch a breath when she feels Heather's hand caressing her—"caught?"

A flash of light streaks across the hallway, no doubt from a party light, and Veronica sees it.

She sees that hungry look in Heather's eyes. Accented by her red cheeks, Heather looks like hell on heels.

Veronica will never get over how hot Heather is—ever.

Desire is stoking the flame underneath Veronica's gut, her throat dries up, and her breath hitches in her throat when she feels Heather's hands trail up to play with the elastic band of her skirt.

"Do you think that they would give a _damn_ if we weren't there?" Heather asks, slipping her fingers under the band. Veronica holds in a hiss; Heather's fingers are cold.

"I can name a couple of people who will," Veronica says with a breathy laugh.

Heather scoffs. It's too dark to see clearly, but Veronica swears she sees Heather roll her eyes. "Fuck 'em," she says, her hands sinking deeper into Veronica's skirt. " _You're_ the one I want."

There's something about that line that makes Veronica shoot forward to kiss her. Maybe it was the growl in Heather's voice, or how she could vaguely see how Heather's lips curl into that smirk that makes her _weak_ in the knees. Or maybe it's because Veronica is too impatient to keep an actual conversation going, and wants Heather to _shut up_ and _take her_.

Whatever the reason is, Veronica doesn't care anymore at this point. She's too busy kissing Heather, tongues brushing against one another. She's too busy writhing under Heather's touch, _especially_ when one hand buries itself in her skirt. She's too busy clutching onto Heather's blazer, her hands trembling with pleasure.

Heather breaks the kiss and lets out an amused breath. " _Damn_ , Veronica," she begins, "you're _drenched_."

Veronica cries out and shuts her eyes when she feels two fingers press up against her clit through her underwear.

"Sorry," she hears Heather say. But Veronica knows she's not.

She knows that demons are never sorry.

Suddenly, Veronica feels her hips move against Heather's hand. Her movements are sporadic, but that doesn't stop the groans escaping her half-opened mouth. Her voice gets louder and louder with every move, and the only time she quiets down is when Heather covers her mouth with hers. Veronica indulges herself in the kiss, relishing in the sensation that only _Heather_ can give her. A part of her wants to laugh at the whole situation; who knew that she would lose her virginity to and continue to be steady with her best friend/worst enemy of all time. Another part of her wants to sit down for a bit and connect the dots to see if these flings meant something more.

Most of her, however, wants the world to shut up and stop moving so that she could relish in this moment with Heather.

Then, Veronica can feel it. She can feel the coil under her gut tightening as she continues her ministrations. She can feel Heather push her knee up, and she pushes back down, her hips never stopping. She focuses on that coil in her gut, squeezing together, tightening its hold, restricting her body so that she can only move in jerks. Veronica's so _damn_ close, and every roll of her hips against Heather's thigh is one step closer to release. A few more steps, she tells herself, until she can—

Heather slides her leg away from Veronica's center, grazing against it so gently it almost _pains_ her. Veronica's eyes snap open and she pushes against Heather's shoulders, breaking off the kiss with an audible _pop!_

"The fuck, Heather?" Veronica growls. "I was clo—" A pair of fingers press against her lips, trapping her words inside her mouth. Veronica catches the scent of musk coming from Heather's hand, and she realizes that Heather was _masturba—_

"I know what I'm doing," Heather says, cutting her thought off. She says nothing else as she disappears from view, her hand trailing down from Veronica's lips, her lipstick-ridden neck, and her half-open top before disappearing under her skirt.

Veronica shudders when she feels two hands trail up the inside of her thighs. She sighs when lips kiss close to her center. She gasps when teeth dig into her skin. She holds her breath when she feels her underwear slipping down past her knees. She grips onto a head of blonde hair when she feels Heather's lips brushing against her clit.

And she cries out when she feels a tongue lick her so slow it's almost painful to bear.

Veronica can feel Heather's lips curl into a smirk, and her warm breath hitting _that_ area when she chuckles. "Need a break?" She asks, her voice dripping with saccharine sugar. Veronica knows Heather is taunting her. A predator playing with its prey, giving it a false sense of security before going for the kill. It's a tactic Heather uses for intimidation (Veronica has seen it in action many times during school hours), and it should have done its job.

Instead, it stokes the fire in Veronica's gut and sends shivers down her spine.

Veronica's teeth dig into her lower lip as Heather's tongue traces her folds. It's light and playful, teasing and toying.

But Veronica doesn't want that. She wants it heavy and rough, unforgiving and hard.

"Harder," Veronica growls as her grip tightens on Heather's hair. " _Now_."

Heather doesn't hesitate. Her tongue _flicks_ across Veronica's clit. She _sucks_ on it occasionally. Her teeth _grazes_ it on purpose.

And all the while, her lips are _curled_ into a smile.

As her body jerks from pleasure, Veronica now understands that the rumors circling Heather and her skills can never do her justice.

Hearing is one thing. Experiencing is different.

"Fuck," Veronica breathes out, her back arching off the wall when she feels Heather suck and lick at the same time.

The air is suffocating, and it's getting harder and harder to breathe: her breaths are shallow, her lungs are burning, and every gasp Veronica takes in isn't enough. Her temperature is rising with every action Heather does: hair sticks to her skin, clothes cling to her, cheeks are burning and red. She's getting weaker by the minute, too: her head is buzzing (although that might be the alcohol, the rational part of Veronica says. Most of her tells that part to shut up), her fingers are trembling, and her knees are shaking. She feels she's about to fall over, especially when Heather grazes her clit a bit too hard before hands grip her legs to help support her weight.

Strings of profanity fall from Veronica's lips again. The coil under her gut is tightening even more, compressing far beyond its limit. It's only a matter of time before the tension becomes too much to handle, and it springs out—

Veronica throws her head back, hitting it against the wall as her orgasm slams into her. Her back arches, her toes curl in her shoes, her legs are quivering, her grip is faltering. She can only breathe as she inhales to moan, her voice raw and low as her hips grind against Heather's tongue to ride the aftershocks. Veronica can feel her whole body pulsing with her heartbeat, and _goddamn_ does it feel amazing.

Heather pulls her head back and rubs her mouth with the back of her hand. " _Jesus_ , Veronica," she says as she sighs, "you act like you're still a virgin."

Veronica doesn't have the energy for a quip, let alone stand. Her body sinks to the floor as her shaky legs give way beneath her. "Shut up, Heather," she mumbles.

"Aw," Heather begins, her voice high and disgustingly sweet, "is little Ronnie tired?"

"Shut _up_ , Heather."

A laugh rings through the air. It's light, playful, and full of vitality. It throws Veronica off when she realizes that it's coming from Heather. The only laughs that come out of Heather are one of two things: fake or scornful. Genuine laughter is something many thought Heather was incapable of doing.

An amused breath tumbles from Veronica's lips as she closes her eyes; Heather Chandler is an enigma.

A beautifully incredible enigma.

"Fuck's sake, are you _really_ going to fall asleep _here_ of all places?" Veronica imagines Heather rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.

" _You_ were the one who decided to have sex _here_ of all places."

Heather scoffs. "We didn't have sex."

"Then what did we do?"

"One-sided relief."

Veronica snorts out a laugh. "The hell's that bullshit? That's _sex_."

"Shut up."

Veronica laughs again, this one louder. It's strange, Veronica thinks, that she's actually having a (somewhat) civil conversation with Heather Chandler. Most conversations with Heather took form as arguments or orders, maybe even a single-line threat if Veronica was especially unlucky. Looking back, Veronica's surprised that Heather hasn't kicked her out of the Heathers, yet; the amount of "insubordination" (as Heather McNamara calls it) is "astounding" (according to Heather Duke).

It takes a moment for Veronica to realize that she's moving. It takes her another moment to realize that she's not only moving—she's being carried.

"The 'ell?" Veronica slurs out, her words meshing together from fatigue and alcohol. She tries to shift but a disapproving grunt cuts through the air.

"Quit moving, pillowcase, or else I'm going to drop your ass and you'll snap your neck on the stairs," Heather says, readjusting her grip on Veronica. A part of Veronica is still impressed with Heather's hidden strength, and another part of her wonders if Heather is capable of snapping someone's arm in half without even trying.

The image is enough to coax a giggle from Veronica.

"The hell's funny?" Heather asks, letting out a small grunt at the end.

"Nothin'," Veronica says. "Just imaginin' you breakin' Kurt's arm in 'alf."

"Weirdo."

"Shuddup, Heather."

"Say that one more time and you'll be waking up on the ground floor."

"You won't."

"Test me, bitch."

Veronica laughs again, this time a little louder. Her mirth settles after a while, and Veronica leans closer towards Heather. The scent of candy, one that leans towards peppermint, fills Veronica with each breath she takes. It's one of those "warm" smells, the kind that tickles Veronica's chest every time she breathes in, like hot chocolate on a winter's day.

How sweet.

"You're burying your nose into my tit, perv."

"I know you've been through worse," Veronica says. It's meant to be a joke, but she can feel Heather's arms tense beneath her. "Sorry," she adds.

Heather scoffs as a response. "For what? We both know it's right."

Veronica doesn't say anything; she's too taken aback by the sudden vulnerability in Heather's voice.

In the back of her mind, she wonders if the whole "mythic bitch" personality is just a cover, a flimsy tarp hiding something that might actually resemble a human being.

Or maybe it's the alcohol making her hear things.

"We're almost there," Heather announces. Her voice sounds distant as Veronica nuzzles even closer, the scent of peppermint and the warmth accompanying it getting stronger.

Heather Chandler is unexpectedly sweet, Veronica notices.

So, so sweet.

-X-

Veronica wakes up when she feels the kiss of sunlight peppering her face. She opens her eyes just a crack and hisses when the light nearly blinds her. Her arm comes up to drape over her eyes, and she groans.

"Looks like the resident vampire decided to wake up."

Veronica groans again as memories of the previous night and a migraine fill her mind. "This is beginning to become a trend, isn't it?"

Heather's laugh rings through the air. A part of Veronica thinks it's like dark chocolate, with how rich and bitter it sounds (and that part of Veronica also happens to be starving). "Don't get used to it."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Veronica mumbles as she forces herself to sit up, leaning against the headboard of Heather's bed. She looks ahead and sees her reflection staring back at her from the vanity's mirror. With makeup smeared and a streak of eyeliner running across her face, Veronica holds back the urge to gag.

God _damn_ , she was a mess in the mornings.

"Hurry up and get your own clothes on," Heather says. "You're stinkin' up my nightgown."

Veronica looks down, and, lo and behold, she's wearing one of Heather's silk nightgowns. Her eyes widen as she realizes that 1) silk is incredibly soft, 2) Heather saw her naked _again_ (it shouldn't surprise Veronica, but in the end, it always does), and 3) Heather changed her clothes.

Heather Chandler honest-to-God _changed her clothes._

"You, uh"—Veronica dumbly points to herself as she looks up at Heather, who's wearing that bathrobe of hers—"changed my clothes?"

Heather raises an eyebrow. "Uh, no shit."

"…Why?"

"Because I didn't want you dying in that blazer of yours," Heather says with a scoff and a roll of her eyes as if it's the most obvious thing in the world (spoiler: it isn't). "I didn't want your corpse in my bed, so I decided to change your shit before you died of asphyxiation."

Veronica allows herself to smile. "You know asphyxiation but not myriad?"

"Fuck off."

"Well, uh, thanks? I guess?" Veronica says as she scratches the back of her neck. She has to admit, it feels weird, being an object of Heather's kindness(?) instead of her ridicule. An unusual, welcome change.

"Whatever. Just motor your ass out of here before—"

"Your parents arrive. I know the drill by now."

Heather purses her lips into a line, and Veronica can't tell if it's a smile or not. She notices something in Heather's eyes, but it's not the familiar lust (Veronica would never have thought that seeing the lust in Heather Chandler's eyes would be a familiar sight, but life has a funny way of surprising people) that accompanies a night of rowdy sex. Their color reminds Veronica of liquid mercury with the way they shimmer in the morning light and how they flicker side-to-side.

"You…alright?" Veronica asks.

Heather blinks. "U-uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," she says, unsure.

It occurs to Veronica that this is the first time that she sees Heather unsure about herself—ever.

And it occurs to Veronica that perhaps Heather Chandler isn't made out of Teflon.

Maybe she's made up of something else, Veronica thinks to herself as she climbs out of the bed, like something shiny yet flexible, something treasured yet empty. Like gold.

Maybe that's why instead of making her way to the bathroom, Veronica walks over to Heather to wrap her arms around the other's waist and rests her head on Heather's shoulder.

"The hell are you doing?" Heather says, her words carrying venom. Veronica, however, is immune, and takes a deep breath, breathing in that warm smell of peppermint.

"Head hurts," Veronica says. Her words carry a quarter of a truth; all she really wanted was to be close to Heather again.

"Maybe if I give you Drano it'll go away."

Veronica chuckles. "Maybe."

Their conversation falls into silence, but it's one that Veronica finds herself at ease with. A crooked smile curls her lips—who knew that she would ever feel at ease with Heather Chandler, demon queen of Westerberg?

But, then again, who knew that Veronica would have sex with Heather at all? Veronica surely didn't.

Veronica takes another deep breath, and as she does so, she decides to hell with it all. To hell with the hierarchy at Westerberg, to hell with the pecking order, to hell with the world. She doesn't need all that shit, not when she's got Heather in her arms.

She can feel Heather's arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer, their bodies pressing up against one another.

Veronica smiles.

Who knew that Heather Chandler could be so, so sweet, and so, so warm?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter of self-indulgent smut, with the exclusive special of a loose plot! i honestly don't know where i'm going to be taking this story, lol. i'm basically using this story as a way to develop my sex writing skills (because that's totally a skill i would need the future). updates will be sporadic if they ever come after this (but then again, all my updates are sporadic), so don't be alarmed if i never update this story ever again. i actually have a vague idea where i want this plot(?) to go, though, so there may be a chapter in the near future (i hope). the chronology of the story, however, will be choppy, so please be aware of that.


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